


Artie does not like the good dying young

by CelticGHardy



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Community: trope_bingo, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticGHardy/pseuds/CelticGHardy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Artie was reasonably uneasy about this snag and bag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artie does not like the good dying young

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had one plan for this, didn't pan out. Started another, too long. This ended up being the third try.
> 
> Trope bingo - 24 hours to live.

Artie was reasonably uneasy about this snag and bag.

Three people, nineteen, twenty-one and twenty-two had died from natural causes that didn't match their ages. Two heart attacks and a stroke. It was only after getting into their apartments that he found out that they had recently lost someone from the same aliment. He also found out they all attended the same meeting.

The 'Grief Recovering' meeting was again meeting that Saturday, and if he was right, the artifact would strike again that night before someone ended up dead the next one. It was open, and he probably looked ridiculous walking in with his bag, but several people barely batted at him and he wondered if people had shown up with worse things. He had attended AA meetings and NA meetings and other anonymous meetings. He had a somewhat reasonable story built up in case he was called upon at the time. New people usually didn't, but sometimes it was better to look like you were participating than not.

The first person to speak out was a woman that recently lost her mother to breast cancer. This was apparently her third time there and had been quiet for the last two meetings because she couldn't put into words how terrible she felt. She now could, words spilling out of her mouth and were soon joined by tears as well.

This was why he didn't like these things. Emotions placed him on edge. He didn't like dealing with them. It was easier for him to bury everything from his past, work to make it right. Not talk it out with someone, as if there was someone to talk with about his emotional problems. Besides, he wasn't on the edge of anything, so he didn't need it.

The next person to offer their story was another woman, and she talked about losing her daughter to a car wreck. She seemed a bit steadier, until she reminded herself of a fairly emotional memory that set her off again. After that, there was a man that had lost his brother to a car wreck as well. Not the same one, although Artie bet against himself that it would have been an interesting story.

While they were talking about their lost ones, he scanned over the room. He had a few thoughts, medical items that would transfer or inflict prognosis on another person. Maybe the younger ones thought they could take someone else's pain away. He barely heard a young man talking about losing his sister to a gunshot before someone asked why he was there.

Artie felt put on the spot. He fidgeted while the others looked at him. “I, uh, recently lost my partner, work partner,” he lied. “We've been, were, working together for roughly twelve years. Things were bad, but I didn't think I would lose him the way I did.” The firing of MacPherson still hit close to home and he figured that it would be the right story. Hit too close to home and he could fudge the details. “I couldn't, umm, I couldn't believe I would lose my friend like that.”

The rest of the group was understanding in small ways. It wasn't a relative, but work partners, especially those in law enforcement, tended to make strong bonds. The only one that wasn't buying his story was the kid that recently lost his sister. The group broke up before he was called on it, and everyone stood up and thanked the one that had organized the event.

“Okay,” the person, older female that probably lost their parent and kept it up for others, said, “Is there anyone that feels they need the locket?” Artie instantly looked over and saw that she was holding up an older and long chained locket.

_The locket! That has to be it. How is it working and who..._

“I, I think I do,” the kid, the one that didn't believe Artie, mumbled. The woman smiled and passed it to him. He took a photo of his sister and placed it in the well before sealing it back up. The rest of the group separated, and he realized he was going to have to tail the young one.

-

He wasn't sure on what exactly the locket did until he started listening. The young man was talking to it, the locket. Artie heard a name over and over and realized that it must have been his sister, a figment or something created by the locket. _I would think that it's driving the people to suicide, but you can't really commit suicide by stroke. Unless..._ He stopped that line of thought as the man stopped when his mother walked by and he looked up before placing the locket under his shirt.

Artie knew that placing the picture inside of it activated it, and he would have to get it out of the kid's hands and into the neutralizer before time was up. However, he was running out of options. Wondering if he should just Tesla the poor kid, he was coming back from a small food break to find the kid waiting in the spot he had taken up. “Ah,” he said, surprised. Apparently, he was losing his touch. Or maybe he wasn't hiding as well as he'd hoped.

“Why did you lie last night?” he asked.

Well, that was easier than trying to explain why he was following him. “I didn't lie,” he said.

“Yes you did, and you just did now,” he accused. _How does he.... Another artifact, wonderful._ “And why are you following me?”

_Damn._ “I'm not following you.”

He gave him his best deadpan stare. “Really?”

“Yes. Really.” It was almost the truth. The kid shook his head and angled it, as if he were listening to someone. It really pushed him to not just take the locket and dunk it. If the locket was playing out the death of the person whose picture was in there, the kid was going to end up with a few gunshot wounds like his sister.

“Okay, if you're not really following me,” he said, “Then I won't see you around again until next Saturday.” He took off and Artie grumbled a few curses before getting ready to find that kid again. It wasn't hard, though. The kid simply went back home. The mother was out, possibly for work. He knew he didn't have a lot of time. The kid was talking to himself more and more, angry and yelling at the locket. Artie just wanted the damn thing secured and to be back to the Warehouse. He was running out of ways to be inconspicuous. If he had to explain to this kid what was going on....

He jumped when he heard the shout. Seeing no one in pain in the street or any of the other houses, he had a nasty feeling. Racing up to the house he had been watching, he saw the kid lying on the floor now, bleeding from something around his chest. _Inconspicuous is out the door._ The door was foolishly open and he was inside with the damn canister. The kid was still awake, but he had the feeling it wouldn't be for long. “You were following me,” he mumbled.

“Am not,” he retorted, going for the locket. Getting it off, he opened it and took out the picture before placing it in the goo. It sparked, but the kid was still bleeding. “Damn it.” He even check to see if the wound had stopped and it hadn't. He opened it up again and took it back out, dripping on the carpet. “Of course.” He took the picture back, opening the locket and placing it in, before putting it back in. The spark was a little more impressive, and the kid started breathing easier. “Finally. And I was not chasing you.” He wanted to look for that second artifact, but knew that staying for too long would cause too much trouble. Instead, he headed out. If something that could tell someone was lying hadn't caused a ping, then maybe he didn't have to worry about it yet.

**Author's Note:**

> -.-
> 
> I regret nothing!


End file.
